


Small Indiscretions

by WhereTheMoonShinesBright



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTheMoonShinesBright/pseuds/WhereTheMoonShinesBright
Summary: "It was tempting to put an arm around Byleth’s waist. Feel his warm skin through the soft fabric. Inappropriate. And yet, there was Byleth’s neck close enough to kiss.There would be time, when the church was restored. There would be. But Byleth needed Seteth’s direction right now more than Seteth’s love, though he would always have both."Byleth and Seteth are traveling back from a diplomatic function in Derdriu, but the public house they stop at only has *gasp* one room.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	Small Indiscretions

Byleth was very adamant that no one know he was archbishop outside of the church grounds. It, frankly, made him uncomfortable. 

For the most part it was alright. Seteth had seen it through the centuries. Some people were like the ever shining sun, captivating and drawing and giving life and beauty to everything they touched. His mother had been such a person. Rhea had been such a person, too. They had drawn in the planets, the stars, all to gravitate around them and given little thought to what happened to all those entities once they were set in place.

Byleth was different. People seemed to take a certain amount of finite energy from him. He would work tirelessly to get to know people, to help them and solve problems, and then he would fade away into nothing. There was a threshold at which it was pointless to ask the Archbishop to handle anything that wasn’t related to numbers or strategy.

So when they traveled, Byleth was not the Archbishop. He kept the sword of the creator ensconced in thick fabric which would hide its glowing if it sensed Byleth’s duress, and travelled in clothes that were even less rich than the ones he’d arrived at the academy in. He wondered if Jeralt had some small bit of vanity. He hardly knew the man-- not as he knew Byleth-- and he had a hard time imagining Byleth request clothes that were so pristinely and perfectly black. 

In any case, Byleth and Seteth, traveling from Derdriu back to Garreg Mach were not currently Byleth and Seteth. They had both adopted cloaks to conceal their rare green hair, and Byleth was dressed in muted blues and undyed whites. Seteth for his part had agreed to do very little other than remove his circlet for the journey. If someone saw Seteth as a priest and Byleth as an unlikely hired sword, that was just as well. No amount of disguise would remove Seteth’s affectations anyways. 

The journey had gone smoothly anyhow. Two travelers were sure to run into trouble, but a priest was likely to go unmolested. If the inhabitants of the Alliance had found issue with the Kingdom they were goddess-fearing enough to leave the church alone. 

The journey had gone smoothly of course, until they needed to stop for the night. 

“I can sleep outside.” Byleth adjusted the strap of his sword and stretched out his arms, as though to prove he was limber enough to bare the discomfort.

“Absolutely not,” a man was standing behind the bar of the public house. There were two available rooms, both meant for single travelers or lovers. “It’s no issue,” Seteth continued, “we will share the room and figure out the arrangements once the time for sleep comes.” Seteth fingered through the coins in his wallet until he pulled the amount appropriate for two meals and a room. 

The attendant pulled a key out and placed it in Seteth’s hand, shifting eyes warily between him and Byleth until he had decided it was none of his apparent business. “Very well, then,” Seteth said to affirm that he was best minding his own business.

Dinner came and went, mostly with Byleth jotting down notes in his journal, before becoming solely invested on eating as he sometimes tended to do. (He apparently had little memory of food or eating before he had arrived at the monastery, and so even foods he instinctively knew he liked tended to be a new and exciting experience for him.) By the time they’d arrived most of the other guests had eaten and taken their leave for the night, so the dining room was relatively peaceful. He missed Flayn’s dinner chatter when he was away on business like this, but the relative silence of Byleth’s company had also become something soothing. 

It wasn’t long before they were headed to their own room. 

Byleth slid the bound sword off his shoulder and laid it down with the care one might set down a child. His cloak and overclothes fell easily to the floor where he stood. These tasks weren’t awkward for Byleth who did not have the forethought required for embarrassment. Nor were they awkward for Seteth, who has seen Byleth in all states of dress and wellness throughout the war. There was still a spark of soft intimacy he felt at seeing Byleth dressed down, and being equally bared. It was almost as though they were friends. Seteth hoped, even through his propriety, that maybe one day they could be more than advisor and advisee. 

In a moment, Byleth was sitting at Seteth’s side, curling his legs up onto the bed and testing the texture of the sheets.

“They’re soft,” Seteth commented briefly.

Byleth nodded, “were you expecting differently?” He finished pulling down the covers and curled into the cold material. 

“No, I supposed I hadn’t thought of it.”

The bed was hardly big enough to fit the both of them, and though they had said to talk about it, the moment Byleth was in the bed Seteth lost his desire to seek another arrangement. He could feel the steady thrum of his pulse as he slotted in behind Byleth. 

It took adjusting and readjusting, squirming and shuffling until they finally fit onto the bed together. 

Byleth’s head was pillowed on his shoulder, two pillows propped up to support Seteth’s neck, and to prevent Byleth’s weight from turning his arm leaden and numb. Byleth’s back was pressed flush against him, and Seteth had to hold his breath to keep it from stirring the hairs on the back of Byleth’s head. 

He had to remind himself that the goddess would not strike him down. That his mother, in fact, would have tutted him and made dismissive noises and called him incredibly dull for not making the most of the moment. The the version of the goddess who would have struck him down was an imaginary figure, created to remind people that others carried their same humanity.

It seemed inappropriate… only in that he hadn’t had a lover in so long. And that he was aware he and Byleth were now once again toeing a delicate line between their working relationship, and some warm sentiment. He cleared his throat and Byleth, mistaking the gesture, made to move again.

“You’re fine to stay where you are,” he breathed uncertainly, “Byleth.”

The Archbishop stilled and melted back into place. 

Byleth hummed in assent. “Good. You’re warm.” Byleth relaxed further against Seteth. 

It was tempting to put an arm around Byleth’s waist. Feel his warm skin through the soft fabric. Inappropriate. And yet, there was Byleth’s neck close enough to kiss. 

There would be time, when the church was restored. There would be. But Byleth needed Seteth’s direction right now more than Seteth’s love, though he would always have both. 

“I had meant to say,” Seteth said, “that it might be better if we requested the mattress from the other room. You seemed uncomfortable.”

Setter could hear Byleth’s fingers tracing shapes into the pillow. “Oh? I’ve never slept in this arrangement before. I was worried about hurting your shoulder.” 

“My shoulder is fine. I would like to think I’m a little more difficult to inconvenience than that.”

Byleth hummed again. Byleth often replied like that. A hum, as though he hadn’t had the time to prepare a response to anything said. “You don’t have to hold your breath.”

So he had noticed. “I was afraid you might find it disturbing.”

“No,” and it was as simple as that. No further answer. 

Seteth managed to get himself to relax, manually, one impulse at a time. He finally reluctantly threw his other arm over Byleth’s side, unable to keep it curled in against his side. Byleth sighed happily and held Seteth’s arm there. 

“I would like to do this more often,” Byleth said contentedly, lazily. Seteth smiled into Byleth’s hair. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Forgive me, Archbishop. This does file into the indiscretionary behavior.” He tried to imagine explaining this to a monk or knight at the monastery. “We can’t do this when we return to Garreg Mach.”

He could feel Byleth twitch a bit, irritated like a cat. Before he melted back more, as though in defiance. “So, I’ll have to wait?”

“I’m afraid so,” he responded gravely.

The time passed in silence, both still awake. Byleth would cough and squirm every now and then, and Seteth’s heart pulsed with some strange forgotten longing. “Archbishop, Byleth, I—“ a false start, no good now that he had Byleth’s attention. He fiddle with a button on Byleth’s undershirt. “I have been distant. I realize we can afford to be more affectionate in this time in between, and yet,” Byleth was now holding his breath, “I’ve forgotten what this affection feels like. I want to prioritize the church, and I’m not sure I can bare to have my attention divided.”

Byleth was so still. Like a statue. Seteth’s lips pressed to the soft skin of Byleth’s neck. “It is not as though I don’t also care for such attention.”

Byleth turned in his arms, they were just a tangle of limbs and soft linen. The archbishop pressed forward to kiss Seteth long and slow and sweet. 

_‘How dull.’_ he heard the goddess say again. 

But as Byleth released his lips and buried himself into the waiting space of Seteth’s arms, all he could think of was how wonderful and thrilling and safe it felt to hold and be held once more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday gift for my very best friend Miles. He wanted pre-marital bed sharing and Setleth, so that's all this is.


End file.
